Five Facets Of A Friendship
by glitteratiglue
Summary: The evolution of the close friendship between Dr Crusher and Counselor Troi.


**Some moments I would have liked to have seen between Beverly and Deanna during TNG. Props to cosmic-llin for the inspiration to write this.**

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**1.**

It's late. Ten Forward is almost deserted, no sound but the ambient hum of the warp engines and the quiet murmur of the few people still left here. Beverly isn't sure how she found herself here – crew social events aren't really her thing, so she's given the social lounge a wide berth thus far. But it's been a long night, and she's tired from treating several pesky cases of Kamazaarite flu. Before she can give into her impulse to leave, she finds a table and orders a Valerian root tea, inhaling its grassy steam as she blows on the cup to cool it.

She spots the dark-haired Betazoid ship's counselor sitting at an adjacent table, her eyes on the window but still somehow far away and remote.

"Mind if I sit down?" Beverly asks.

The other woman's smile is luminous, and Beverly finds herself slightly dazzled by the sheer loveliness of Deanna Troi.

"Please."

She takes the chair opposite Troi. "I'm not very sociable," Beverly begins awkwardly, "but when I saw you sitting alone, I thought you could use some company as much as I could."

"You're not worried I'm going to read your mind?" It comes out a little sharper than Deanna intends it to. "Sorry. It's nothing."

"I know enough about Betazoid telepathy to know its limits, especially when you're only half. And besides, why would that matter?"

The counselor gives a half-smile. "Not at all."

Beverly makes her first friend on the _Enterprise_ that night.

In turn, Deanna senses a warmth and honesty in Beverly she hasn't felt from a lot of her new colleagues, who have a natural distrust of an empath. That changes quickly, but she never forgets the way Beverly Crusher reached out to her that night, with no judgement or expectations.

**2.**

It doesn't take long for the counselor to discover that the straight-laced ship's doctor has a wicked side.

A few days after their brush with polywater intoxication, they're sharing a quick lunch in Ten Forward when Beverly leans in with a conspiratorial look.

"So, what's the story with you and Will Riker?"

The counselor schools her features into a practised, neutral expression that wouldn't fool anyone.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Beverly."

Beverly puts down her fork, all thoughts of food forgotten. "You needn't deny it. I have it on good authority you were practically trying to tear his clothes off on the way to sickbay."

"We were lovers, once. It was a while ago."

The doctor slams her palm down on the table. "I knew it!"

"You really can't hold that incident against me. Not after what Ensign Andrews and Lieutenant Gazem were caught doing in the arboretum. Besides, Will was the perfect gentleman. He hasn't even mentioned it." Deanna's voice is stern, especially when she catches the far-away look in the doctor's eyes.

"Stop it, Beverly." Deanna spears a forkful of salad.

"Stop what?"

"What you're doing. Constructing an elaborate idea of my prior relationship with Will to suit your own fantasies."

"Yep." Beverly grins. "Being a mother to an errant son and chief medical officer keeps me pretty busy, you know. I have to get my vicarious thrills somewhere. Even if it's through imagining you and Commander Riker having a torrid, passionate relationship in the steamy, romantic jungles of Betazed."

Deanna gives her a sharp look. "Have you been reading those Betazoid romance novels my mother sent?"

Beverly's cheeks colour. "Er, well, some of them are quite…"

The counselor laughs. "The Jalara Jungle was actually one of mine and Will's favourite places on Betazed. The beautiful surroundings were certainly... inspiring."

"Was it as good as I imagine it to be?" Beverly asks teasingly, but wishes she hadn't when her friend's face tightens and those dark eyes flash with a hint of sadness.

"Better. I'd never felt such an intense connection before."

The doctor arches an eyebrow. "So he was _that _good, eh?"

"Beverly!" Deanna glares at her friend, but quietly adds, "Incredible is probably a more accurate description." She clears her throat. "It's more of a spiritual thing, of course…"

"Uh-huh." Beverly's eyes are dancing, but even without an empathic advantage, she can sense the pain that lies behind her friend's easy words. She reaches for the hand on the other side of the table.

"We tell ourselves it's worth the pain, to remember the good things. But sometimes we wish we'd never had it at all. I can't say I've never wished that, even though Jack and I had Wes and all those wonderful years together." There's a sudden lurch in her stomach as a fragment of grief finds its way to the surface. She always thinks it won't be there when she mentions him, but it always is.

Warm fingers squeeze hers in silent understanding, and Beverly realises the downside of being friends with an empath.

"Oh, Beverly. I'm sorry. I shouldn't talk about this, not when you lost your husband. This is nothing in comparison to that." From her lifelong study of psychology, Deanna knows that's not the case at all, but she finds herself saying it anyway.

Beverly shakes her head. "It's been years, Deanna. Tell me."

"I just don't know how to feel. We're not friends, and I don't know if I want us to be lovers again. It didn't work out because he prioritised his career, and I can't really blame him for that. But I've worked my way up in the past few years, and I _like_ it here. I'm not going to transfer off the ship because we gave into an urge and he was too awkward about it to give me orders afterwards."

"From what I know of the two of you, you'll find a way to be friends." Beverly's expression is soft, almost motherly. There's such conviction in her words that Deanna can't help but believe them.

**3.**

Now that it's all over, she can't stop the tears. It's nothing she can fully explain to anyone, not the captain, and especially not Wesley, given how guilty he already feels that it was his warp bubble experiment that nearly vanished her from existence. The sense of loneliness and fear that she managed to keep at bay for all that time has come rushing back, pouring from her in torrents of emotion. As befits a CMO, Beverly is unfailingly calm under pressure and able to put aside her feelings in the face of duty. What she doesn't tell anyone, not even Jean-Luc, is that it makes it that much harder when her control eventually snaps and she has to examine the emotions she's buried.

She's surprised to hear the door chime (Wesley is still on shift, thank God, she doesn't want him to see her like this).

"Who is it?"

"Counselor Troi."

Beverly rubs her eyes hastily and lets Deanna in.

The counselor pauses for a moment, then walks forward and puts her arms around her. The unexpected physical contact is comforting, but it only makes Beverly cry harder. Deanna doesn't move or even react, just hugs her close while she heaves choking sobs against her shoulder.

A few minutes later, Beverly feels compelled to say something. "You didn't have to come. I would have made an appointment."

Deanna strokes her hair. "I'm not here as a professional. I'm here as a friend." There are tears in Deanna's eyes – for all her shielding, she can't entire close herself to emotional impressions, especially not from those she cares about most. Beverly is reminded how much it costs her friend to do the work that she does, despite its rewards, and admires her even more, if that's possible.

A few minutes later Deanna crosses to the replicator and taps in a set of complex codes. Two glass dishes materialise and she sets them on the coffee table, gesturing for Beverly to join her on the couch.

"Now I know you're not a chocolate fan, Beverly, but _this_ is enough to convert even the most hardened cynic. Delavian chocolate mousse."

"Is this what gets you through?" Beverly sits down and accepts the proffered bowl and spoon.

"Sometimes," replies Deanna, her smile a little sad around the edges. "It won't fix anything, but everything feels a little more bearable when there's chocolate involved. There are psychological studies to back me up on this."

Beverly scoops a spoonful, and realises Deanna is right. The mousse is thick and smooth and rich on her tongue in the most sinful way, and already everything looks a little brighter. She isn't sure whether it's the chocolate or just having a friend who knows her so well, but she's grateful all the same.

**4.**

Data, Geordi and Worf have folded, and Deanna has just resoundingly knocked Will out of the game after calling his bluff.

"Looks like it's just us girls." Beverly studies her cards with a carefully neutral expression.

"I think we need to step up our game, gents," says Will with a teasing grin.

"It is the same among Klingons," Worf laments to Will. "Females are considered to have superior skill in games of chance."

"An empath versus a scientist. I'm not sure who to bet on." Will's eyes sparkle with interest.

Beverly looks up. "I'll call. Show me what you've got."

Deanna flips her cards over with a deadly smile.

"Four of a kind," remarks Data. "You have a good chance, counselor, given that the probability of the doctor having an equal or better hand is 0.0256%."

Beverly spreads out a royal flush on the table, while the others shake their heads in disbelief. Deanna sighs, but there's obvious amusement in her eyes. She knows she's one of the main reasons that the doctor has become so proficient at poker – playing against an empath tends to have that effect, even though she tries not to pick up on emotions when she plays.

Beverly scoops the pile of chips towards her, smiling at Data's puzzled look. "That, Data is called luck."

"Blind luck," Geordi interjects, chuckling at his own joke.

"Forgive me, doctor, but it was an exceedingly remote possibility that you could have beaten Counselor Troi's hand, yet you seemed sure of yourself. I do not understand why." The android looks at Beverly expectantly.

"Let's just call it hubris, Data." Beverly starts stacking her chips slowly, making sure that everyone sees her do it. Deanna is barely keeping a straight face at this point.

"I will never understand how non-Klingons can accept losing so easily," says Worf, frowning.

Deanna and Beverly nudge each other and laugh, ignoring the nonplussed looks from the others.

**5.**

"Morning, Commander," Beverly says with a broad smile as she steps out of the turbolift doors and on to the bridge. Deanna is seated in the captain's chair, looking for all intents and purposes as though she belongs there. "How was your first duty shift?"

"Uneventful and tiring," her friend replies, but there's an unmistakeable gleam in her eye as she fingers the shiny new pip on her collar.

"Not all it's cracked up to be?"

"Oh, I don't know...there's something rather fun about it." Deanna's eyes are twinkling with private amusement. "One minute. Captain's orders are to divert to the nearest starbase for some long-overdue repairs."

"I won't be arguing there. I'm exhausted. The second we dock I'll be heading to the spa and not leaving for the duration of our stay."

"Ensign, plot in a course for Starbase 223. Warp six," Deanna says crisply, in a command tone Beverly's never heard her use before.

"Course laid in," comes the reply from the helm.

Beverly wonders why Deanna is grinning so much.

"Engage," she says, pointing her finger in such a spot-on impression of Jean-Luc Picard that the doctor doubles over in laughter.

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**Okay, so I know I failed the Bechdel Test, but I did a lot better than the series, and that conversation between the two of them about Riker was way too much fun to leave out.**


End file.
